The Verge

Happy Last Night in NYC! the text buzzed my phone. People were clearing out, going home, tomorrow is a work day and these goodbyes are better off ripped like band-aids anyways.

I do not know what is going on.

We laugh, we reminisce, we make fun of each other and move on to the next wine, the next meal, the next step, it is all surreal and I laugh through it all. My dear, dear, dearest sit on the stoop and we have nothing to say except I'll see you soon. Just yesterday we were on a porch in upstate New York sipping Gin and Tonics and singing the blues. No wonder life seems surreal.

There are too many words to sum up, too many feelings to dissect and recall. There is no use. I get silly drunk, talk of details and pretend this moment is forever. They slip me trinkets in carefully wrapped boxes; I sleep with the reminders of who I am, where I've been.

Tomorrow, tomorrow I will digest. Tomorrow I will let this all sink in and I will miss you, I will cry for you, I will put into words the feelings that I cannot now reach--I didn't even cry when you walked away, did you notice that? Tomorrow I will cry. Tomorrow I will sit on a plane across the wide blue ocean and I will realize what is going on, and there will be no way to get off. That is when tears will form, when words will form, it will all hit me and that which is now a vague dream will become real.

Revel in this last moment of innocence, dear. You may be in, for a a bumpy ride.